Lyrics of Lowly Life / by Paul Laurence Dunbar [electronic text]
About this Item
Title
Lyrics of Lowly Life / by Paul Laurence Dunbar [electronic text]
Author
Dunbar, Paul Laurence, 1872-1906.
Publication
London: Chapman & Hall, Ltd.
1897
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"Lyrics of Lowly Life / by Paul Laurence Dunbar [electronic text]." In the digital collection American Verse Project. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/BAC5659.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 1, 2024.
Pages
A BANJO SONG.
OH, dere's lots o' keer an' troubleIn dis world to swaller down;An' ol' Sorrer's purty livelyIn her way o' gittin' roun'.Yet dere's times when I furgit 'em, —Aches an' pains an' troubles all, —An' it's when I tek at ebenin'My ol' banjo f'om de wall.
'Bout de time dat night is fallin'An' my daily wu'k is done,An' above de shady hilltopsI kin see de settin' sun;When de quiet, restful shaddersIs beginnin' jes' to fall, —Den I take de little banjoF'om its place upon de wall.
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Den my fam'ly gadders roun' meIn de fadin' o' de light,Ez I strike de strings to try 'emEf dey all is tuned er-right.An' it seems we're so nigh heabenWe kin hyeah de angels singWhen de music o' dat banjoSets my cabin all er-ring.
An' my wife an' all de othahs, —Male an' female, small an' big, —Even up to gray-haired granny,Seem jes' boun' to do a jig;'Twell I change de style o' music,Change de movement an' de time,An' de ringin' little banjoPlays an ol' hea't-feelin' hime.
An' somehow my th'oat gits choky,An' a lump keeps tryin' to riseLak it wan'ed to ketch de waterDat was flowin' to my eyes;
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An' I feel dat I could sorterKnock de socks clean off o' sinEz I hyeah my po' ol' grannyWif huh tremblin' voice jine in.
Den we all th'ow in our voicesFu' to he'p de chune out too,Lak a big camp-meetin' choiryTryin' to sing a mou'nah th'oo.An' our th'oahts let out de music,Sweet an' solemn, loud an' free,'Twell de raftahs o' my cabinEcho wif de melody.
Oh, de music o' de banjo,Quick an' deb'lish, solemn, slow,Is de greates' joy an' solaceDat a weary slave kin know!So jes' let me hyeah it ringin',Dough de chune be po' an' rough,It's a pleasure; an' de pleasuresO' dis life is few enough.
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Now, de blessed little angelsUp in heaben, we are told,Don't do nothin' all dere lifetime'Ceptin' play on ha'ps o' gold.Now I think heaben'd be mo' homelikeEf we'd hyeah some music fallF'om a real ol'-fashioned banjo,Like dat one upon de wall.
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